The drop of burning cartridge,
Like everyday shower,
A shower, no matter cold or warm.
Seems not able to shower the tear.
Guess,
Rashes may hurt,
may be gone, may be healed,
Over time.
On the concrete ground,
The burn marks,
Stay.
The softness of the burned edges,
betrayed the force.
The speed and the heat, melted.
Placed a living document, together.
They are small, they are tiny.
The departments don’t care.
Instead,
The uneven walkways,
The government care.
Cement patch works,
Not for flattening and fixing,
Not for aesthetic.
Amplifying the missing bricks.
The rebellious bricks.
Bricks long gone,
Indeed.
The death long gone,
In a mystery.
Voices prohibited.
Objects are still,
Speaking.
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